


the weight of the crown

by myu_gao



Series: Palette [2]
Category: MewGulf - Mew Suppasit Jongcheveevat/Gulf Kanawut Traipipattanapong, เกลียดนักมาเป็นที่รักกันซะดีๆ | TharnType: The Series (TV), เกลียดนักมาเป็นที่รักกันซะดีๆ | TharnType: The Series (TV) RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Prince!Gulf, artist!mew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:09:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27633221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myu_gao/pseuds/myu_gao
Summary: Gulf stares out at the sprawling lands - the green fields, the little townhouses, the rivers that carve their mark through the earth. They are magnificent and daunting in equal measure, as is the crown upon his father’s head. Sometimes, he can't believe that same crown will be his.Luckily, Mew will always be there for him, to hold him, kiss him, and promise him forever.
Relationships: Mew Suppasit Jongcheveevat/Gulf Kanawut Traipipattanapong
Series: Palette [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2022391
Comments: 4
Kudos: 81





	the weight of the crown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yenna (Maylane)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maylane/gifts).



> \- MAY HAVE A GOOD DAY ILY HERE'S A HAPPY UPDATE FOR YOU  
> \- hehe anyways shoutout to may for adopting me as a fetus waanjai i don't think i would have ANY friends in this fandom without her haha

Gulf stares out at the sprawling lands - the green fields, the little townhouses, the rivers that carve their mark through the earth. They are magnificent and daunting in equal measure, as is the crown upon his father’s head.

“I just don’t think...I just can’t believe that one day all this will be mine.”

Beside him, his boyfriend leans into him even as he brushes a few strokes of green onto his canvas. It’s rare for Gulf to feel this way - the prince has a reputation for being happy-go-lucky even outside of their kingdom’s walls, a strong proponent of the phrase ‘just sleep on it’. But when he’s in moods like this, Mew feels helpless, unable to do very much other than offer a comforting touch and gentle words.

“You’ll have time to get used to it.” He encourages, turning his head so he can press a few kisses to the prince’s clothed shoulder. Crickets chirp in the background, as if to signify their agreement.

“It feels impossible though. Like - look, phi - there’s so much out there. I just - I don’t think I could ever handle all of that.”

“You sat in one of your father’s meetings for the first time the other day. You always visit the towns, always want to find out what's the best for your people. Also, you finally made a bullseye in your archery lessons, even though you almost knocked over all my paints the time before that.” Gulf’s about to apologize but Mew stops him with a kiss to the corner of his lips. “What I mean to say is, no one ever starts at the top. But you’ll get there baby, I know you will. You’ll get anything you put your mind to.”

Then Mew whispers, as if he's telling a secret.

“Plus, you got me too, didn’t you.” Mew rubs his nose against Gulf’s, and the latter can’t help the wide smile that spreads across his face. Lightly smacks Mew's chest for his efforts.

“Only after you had an existential crisis where you thought you weren’t good enough for me and ran away to try and prove it.” Mew huffs, pouting as he adds a few swipes of colour to his canvas.

“Well, it seemed like the most logical course of action at the time.” Gulf shakes his head fondly. In Gulf's humble opinion, it was a  _ terrible _ idea, but Mew's here with him now, so he'll forgive past mistakes. He's never going to stop giving his boyfriend shit for it, though.

“Logical.” Gulf scoffs, and Mew gives him a gentle swat on the head for it. (Before Gulf can complain, he remedies it with another kiss to Gulf’s lips, and, well - Gulf is a weak, weak man.)

“Hm.” Mew murmurs, amusement colouring his tone. “My point still stands. Though if you’re not convinced...shall I prove it to you?” There’s an undertone in that promise, and Gulf finally looks straight at Mew, searches his eyes for intention. The fond smile that decorates his lover’s face is all the reassurance Gulf needs before he dives in for a kiss, capturing Mew’s lips with an urgency he wasn’t aware he felt.  _ Convince me, promise me. Now, please. _

Mew returns his kisses with equal fervour, nipping at Gulf's lower lip before licking into Gulf's mouth, hand curving around Gulf's jaw, cupping it gently in his big hand. His other hand comes to Gulf's hip, kneading at the soft flesh there. They part with heavy breaths, every single sound amplified as the sun goes down: the quiet chirping of crickets, the sound of the wind as it rustles through their hair, and if Gulf listens carefully, he can almost hear the heartbeats, thrumming in tandem.

"I think I need more proof." He whispers to Mew.

"Then, allow me." They share another smile before Mew is scooping him up bridal style.

* * *

Gulf knows how strong Mew’s hands are. If the branching veins on them aren’t enough indication, then the amount of times he’s carried Gulf - both inside and outside the bedroom - speaks for itself. But the way he touches Gulf now, calloused palms ghosting over his sun-kissed skin and trailing worshipful down his body - they are gentle, oh-so-gentle.

“Of all the art I’ve ever made,” Mew traces careful hands over the bruises on Gulf’s hips, his waist, his inner thighs, bruises from nights of passion, “I think these are my favourite.” They’re black and blue, light yellow and darker yellow, like patches of flowers are blooming all over Gulf’s body.

“You should be a fucking poet, with those lines.” Gulf snaps half-heartedly, too focused on arching his spine and moving his body towards Mew’s touch.  _ Stop talking and touch me, goddamnit. _

Mew's hands are usually clean when he holds Gulf, scrubbed squeaky clean of the paints that are his profession. But today it is different. Today it’s as if Mew can’t wait, can’t wait to get his hands on Gulf, can't wait to promise him forever.

There's something different about being touched with paint-stained hands, the texture of it rough against Gulf's smooth skin. It feels a bit like desperation and Gulf loves it, the roughness of the touch a reminder that Mew is here, in this moment and with him.

Mew lays him down against his soft pillows, simultaneously retrieving the bottle of oil under them, slathering his fingers in an abundance of it. They glisten even in the lack of light, even as Mew streaks some of it up and down Gulf's thighs. Gulf grumbles under his breath:  _ touch me elsewhere, damnit _ , and Mew smirks at him.

"I'm just appreciating the art." He says, emphasizing his statement with a tight squeeze of Gulf's thigh, but Gulf wants more.

"You can appreciate and give me more at the same time." He mumbles, feels the blush rise on his cheeks. When Mew smirks he looks away, tries to kick Mew with an outstretched foot. Mew stops him with a gentle hold on his ankle, of course, but bends to Gulf's will anyways, obliging him by dripping some oil onto his cock and hole.

His touches so far have been desperate but the way he prepares Gulf is gentle. He monitors Gulf's expressions with every move - one finger, two fingers, then three, all the while pressing kisses over Gulf's face and neck. Murmuring gentle encouragements into Gulf's ear, leaving the younger man squirming at the onslaught of sensations.

Mew makes sure to thread his fingers with Gulf's before he pushes in, groaning into the side of Gulf's cheek as he does so. Gulf extends his neck for Mew, baring it as if pleading:  _ kiss me there, please, phi.  _ He knows Mew loves kissing his neck the most.  _ Kiss me everywhere, please. _

"You feel so good, tua-aeng. Always the best for me." Gulf moans, unable to find words to reply. He can't bring himself to quip about how he  _ always feels good, and Mew definitely knows it _ , so overwhelming are the feelings ravaging his body and mind. He's reminded, then, of the conversation that had led to this in the first place, and he reaches a hand up to the crown of his own head, feeling the weight of it and wondering what it would feel like to have an actual crown on top of his wavy locks.

Mew takes that hand in his, bringing it to the back of Mew's neck instead. As if to say  _ not now, baby. For now, focus on me. Me only. _

He moans louder, holding Mew's face in both his hands. Sometimes he's amazed that he even got Mew. Everything Mew does, everything he makes - it seems to turn to gold as if he's Midas. Gulf may be the prince, but the way Mew always carries himself, kind and gentlemanly, is something amazing beyond the teachings of the palace. He takes care of Gulf so well too, patient almost to a fault.  _ You take care of me so good, phi. I want to give you everything. I want to be enough, so that I can give you everything. _ He vocalizes this, breathless and wondering.

"Am I good for you, phi? A-am I enough?"

"Oh, tua-aeng." Mew stills his movements for a second, touching his foreheads to Gulf and smiling softly - so softly, Gulf thinks he might melt. "You're always more than enough." When he plows back in Gulf nearly comes. Mew must realize it too - sometimes Gulf is shocked at how finely their bodies are attuned to each other's - because he abruptly speeds up, hammering into Gulf like there's no tomorrow.

"Come for me, baby." Gulf shudders through the aftershocks, the intensity of it more emotional than physical. He pants into Mew's shoulder, running his hands all over the bare skin of Mew's back as if to reassure himself. He pulls back when he thinks he has some modicum of self control, only to realize that -

In this position, Mew is looking at him, and just the way he does it has Gulf's heart going into overdrive. He's just seated on Mew's lap, but it feels like a throne with the way Mew's eyes are fixated on him. Because Mew's eyes are shining like all the stars, moons, and galaxies are contained in them, and he's staring up at Gulf as if he's something to be worshipped - like he hung all those stars and moons in the sky, like he's the reason those galaxies exist instead of the vast, vast nothingness.

And oh, the way he touches Gulf, lifts his hands up to cradle the prince's jaw. Gulf closes his eyes and rests into them, feels the way Mew's thumbs stroke carefully over the apples of his cheeks. When Mew touches him like this, he feels like he's on top of the world, like he could do anything, can do anything.

"I love you." Gulf confesses, and he must sound like he's about to cry because Mew immediately pulls him down so that they're eye to eye. He can feel the tears falling, but they're happy tears,  _ happy tears _ , he wants to tell Mew, guiding his lover's hand to the smile on his face. Presses a kiss to those calloused fingertips, that careful palm.

"And I love you." Mew whispers, as if he's afraid to shatter the quiet intimacy of this moment. It's hallowed, worshipful, sounds almost like a promise. Gulf clutches Mew's hands to his chest and hopes, prays. That for them, it will be forever.

* * *

Mew’s left the room in search of a basin of water and a washcloth to clean them up, and in his absence Gulf’s sighs seem to fill up the whole room. He glances out beyond the balcony. From his vantage point inside the room, the vast fields look a bit less intimidating, a bit more like something Gulf could eventually call his one day.

Unable to help himself, he throws the heavy blanket over his shoulders, lets the ends of it drag against the floor as he pads over towards the cold night air. Mew’s art is still lying on its easel, depicting the sun-kissed version of the landscape that’s laid out before him. Gulf traces keen fingers over the strokes of green and yellow that make up the fields, the occasional bits of purple and pinks an exact replica of the wildflowers that colour them.

Then, above it all: two figures, barely distinguishable, holding hands and staring up at the sky. It’s so tiny Gulf has to squint to see it, but vaguely, he makes out the painter’s overalls on the left figure and a lopsided crown on the head of the right. It feels like a promise from Mew, that no matter when and where, he will be there to hold Gulf’s hand, to be by his side as they stare together up at the sky.

Gulf smiles to himself. Perhaps, with Mew’s hand in his and the passage of time laid out in front of them both, he will find that the weight of the crown suits him just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/myu_gao)


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